


The Leshen

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [19]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, Leshens (The Witcher), Makeup Sex, Monsters, One Shot, Smut, because of Geralt and Yennefer, because witchers, but being unable to, wanting to say all the things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are arguing, and their rage at each other attracts something truly evil.Set between Bounds of Reason and A Shard of Ice.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 38
Kudos: 63





	The Leshen

**Author's Note:**

> Leshens are creepy AF! But, they are fun to fight. They have allies of wolves and crows (both magical and not "real" in the game sense, so no fictional animals were injured in the writing of this piece!) and they can control roots of trees. They derive from the Leshy, a Slavic creature of folklore. Make sure to pull up a pic of a leshen if you haven't played the game and experienced one yourself.
> 
> Prompt kindly provided by Chrisska!

The fight had been droning on for too long, and the rain that was coming down in an oppressive, endless drizzle was making it all the worse. It encased them in a maze of grey fog, with nothing but the dark trunks of pine and spruce to break it apart. The forest itself seemed to be closing in on them, like a beast honing in on its prey. Did Yennefer feel it as well? Geralt shivered. 

In truth, Geralt wasn’t even positive how the damn fight started. He  _ was _ certain it was some little mundane comment or quip that had taken on proportions far bigger than it had any right or reason to be. It seemed like that was happening a lot, lately. 

He hated it. 

He turned towards the sorceress and let out a heavy sigh. She was behind him, a few yards from his horse, and absolutely refusing to look his way. She had the hood of her cloak wrapped tightly around her face, but she didn’t waste any magical energy repelling the water from her and the rain ran down the heavy wool in thick rivlets. 

“You can leave the horse and portal back to Vengerberg,” he said bitterly, and it physically hurt to say those words aloud. “I’ll make sure the steed gets back to you, if you don’t want me to....,”

Yennefer’s eyes glittered in an angry blue fire. “If I don’t want you to what, Geralt?”

“If you don’t want me to come back with you.” It was ending. It was always  _ fucking _ ending. He swallowed the pain down.

Something flashed across her features then. Was it hurt? Sadness? Resignation? It was gone before he could name it, buried away in that dark place she buried all her painful secrets and memories. “I can manage a rainstorm, Geralt,” she stated in a voice completely devoid of feeling. “If you feel the need to leave, so be it. At least you’ve done me the courtesy of informing me this time.”

He gripped the wet leather of the reins until his fingers hurt. He’d make them bleed if he could. “We promised never to bring that tired story up again, Yennefer,” he spat at her.  _ Would he ever live down that damnedable day? Would it ever release him from its endless helixes of shame and regret?  _

“And yet, here we are again,” she hissed. “Things get difficult and you run. Nothing has changed. What a fool I was to think it could.”

“If that’s what you think I’m doing…,” he started, pulling hard on Roach’s reins to get the mare to stop and turn. 

“Of course that’s what you’re doing!” she yelled back at him. “It’s what you always do, Geralt. You leave. You left me in Vengerberg, you’d have left me on the hunt, you’ve left countless others before. Shall I name them? Coral, Moziak…,”

“You’re comparing yourself to them? Women I haven’t even thought of in years? How can you possibly think that is how I feel about you, Yennefer? How?” He was disgusted with himself. Did she really believe that she mattered so little to him?  _ Her?  _

“How am I to know how you feel when you never tell me!” she was screaming now, her voice echoing through the damp trees like the howl of some undead creature.

“What do you want from me, Yennefer?” his voice matched hers. The rain fell heavier, the forest swallowing their rage in its pine-scented maw. 

“What do you THINK I want from you, Geralt?!”

“I’m a witcher, Yennefer, a mutant…,”

“DON’T YOU USE _THAT_ WORD IN MY PRESENCE. DON’T YOU EVER USE…,”

A noise, far-off. A pine branch cracking. A murder of crows screaming overhead. “Quiet…,” he hissed at her.

“How dare you tell me....,” 

“QUIET!” he hissed again. “There’s something out there.”

He dismounted Roach and walked to Yennefer, his senses alert. “What is it?” she whispered, dismounting next to him. Geralt stepped in front of her, blocking her from the oppressive swath of forest in front of them. 

Above, the crows continued cawing their murderous serenades.

“In the woods,” he replied, drawing his sword. “Between the trees, just to the left. It’s coming.” His medallion started to hum violently around his neck, and he knew she was drawing in magic, preparing for the attack. 

The rain continued to fall, impeding his vision, drowning out any noise beyond the crows above. 

And then he saw it.

The creature came out from between the black trunks of the forest, tangles of twigs and dying vines wrapped hanging on it’s large antlers. It had the skull of a deer, the claws of a bear, and it doubled him in height. The very air encircling them seemed to be sucked towards it, leaving a vacuous space of cold emptiness in its wake.

The crows continued their screaming. 

“Geralt, what…,” Yennefer began.

“A leshen. These must be its woods.” He turned to her. “Yen…,” he started. There was so much to say. He didn’t have the time. He didn’t have the  _ fucking _ time. 

“I’m here,” she replied, a small smile on her face. “Be careful, Geralt.” 

He grabbed her elbow softly, trying to impart everything he couldn’t say into that touch. He looked at her once more, touched her chin gently, then turned towards the woods.

*******

The leshen appeared ancient; it probably was. It walked towards Geralt in sure strides, its long legs making quick work of the space between them. It had danced this dance before. Had it ever met a witcher or a sorceress, however? Geralt doubted that. 

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. 

Geralt attacked.

The creature swiped at him as he neared, clearly intending to make quick work of the witcher, but Geralt easily avoided the reach and dodged to the side, then immediately rolled into the creature for a hard slash of his sword. The monster bellowed in rage - obviously it wasn’t used to such nimble prey - and it swiped at him again with its vicious claws, but Geralt side-stepped outside the reach of the attack.

He didn’t see the wolf come up from behind him, however, until the thing had launched itself on his back. The animal began to tear at his neck armor, desperately searching for skin to rip apart. It’s breath stank of the rotting meat clinging in the spaces between its teeth. This was no ordinary wolf of the forest, but a servant of the leshen, intent on malice and death alone. Geralt felt the air crackle slightly, followed by the sickening sound of bones breaking around him. Yennefer had magically broken the necks of five massive wolves, and the animals lay in crumpled heaps on the forest floor. 

The leshen screamed in a cold fury and materialized into smoke. 

“Geralt, what happened? Is it dead?!” Yennefer called out. She rushed towards him.

“YEN, NO!! STAY BACK!” he shrieked in terror, but it was too late. The leshen reappeared near her, dove its hands into the wet earth, and thick roots radiated around it. One grabbed Yennefer and threw her hard to the ground. Geralt heard her cry out as her head hit the floor.

Pure rage exploded from him.

He made the sign for _ Igni, _ but the sheer torrent of fire that erupted from his hand was like nothing he had ever seen. The leshen was engulfed in angry white flames, and the smell of burning wood and flesh filled his nostrils. He pointed his sword for the very center of the creature and launched himself at it - flames be damned - striking the leshen in the heart. It cried one last long, shrill note and crumpled to the ground. 

The crows attacked now in a desperate act of vengeance for their fallen master, but Geralt threw up a quick  _ Quen, _ shielding himself from the onslaught of their beaks, before they materialised into an inky smoke and disappeared. 

“YEN!” Geralt called out, running to her. She was sitting up, rubbing the back of her head. He knelt down to cradle her in his arms. “Yen, are you alright? Tell me you’re alright!” He noticed his hands were shaking. He had never felt so terrified. 

“I shielded myself just in time,” she said again, then she looked at his sliced armor around his neckline. Her eyes were wide with concern. “Are you hurt?”

He smiled and touched her cheek. She leaned into his hand. “Just my armor. I’m fine, Yen. I promise.” She looked at him, her breath coming in rapid pants, her heart thrumming wildly against his hands, and her gaze flickered momentarily to his mouth. 

His lips crashed into hers and she responded in kind, pulling him to her. Her nimble fingers wound through his hair, and her mouth opened hungrily for him. They had needed each other like this before, Geralt knew. But the fight, almost losing her…

“Yen, I…,”

“I know,” she said in a low voice, and Geralt wasn’t sure she did, he wasn’t sure _ he _ even did. There simply wasn’t a word to describe what she was to him. Nothing was sufficient. Perhaps a wordsmith would know? A poet? But how could a witcher explain a feeling so raw that it scoured itself into his very being. There was no  _ him _ without  _ her  _ anymore. How could he tell her that? 

He only hoped he could show her.

He fumbled with his laces while she fought with her skirts, both trying to grab onto each other, to hold some new piece of the other they had somehow missed. His erection was heavy and full, and when he finally sank into her warmth, they both cried out. 

This feeling. There was no word for this feeling. 

There simply was not a grand enough word for this.

*******

When the furiousness of their ardor had subsided and they found their breaths once more, he gently lifted her to her feet. He carefully picked the forest debris from her hair, then pulled her lips to his for a chaste kiss. 

“Will you ride with me?” he asked her.

“Geralt, I promise you, I’m fine.” She traced the outline of his scar.

“I know you’re fine, but I want you to ride with me.” He was quiet for a moment, feeling absurdly exposed. “Please, Yen.”

She stared at him, her face questioning for a minute, before she softened. “Alright, I’ll ride with you.”

He tethered her horse to Roach, sat back, and pulled her into the saddle with him. She nestled into his chest, and Geralt knew that she belonged there. That no one - not a single person - could ever make him feel like this. He wrapped his arm tightly around her, feeling her lithe body mold itself into the contours of his chest, and he opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to apologize for the fight. He wanted to tell her she meant more to him than he could ever even deign to describe. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t leave her, not again. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he had loved her since Rinde, since before he had even understood what a feeling like love was. He wanted to tell her all these things. 

But how, how could he tell her  _ all this? _ How could she ever believe him capable of that? Why would a witcher feel such things? Why would she accept them from him anyway?

Instead, he kissed her brow and continued on the path through the forest, swallowing down the words his heart ached to say.

If Yennefer had been reading his thoughts, she had made no response.

**Author's Note:**

> Of COURSE it ends in angst, how could it not! Thank you all for any comments and kudos. They keep a tired writer going, lol.


End file.
